Tea-Totally Dead (13 page)

“I’ll call,” I told him softly and tapped out Vesta’s number.

“Harmony Fitch residence,” the voice on the other end of the wire answered cheerfully.

“Harmony, this is Kate,” I said. Then as an afterthought, “That is you, Harmony. Isn’t it?”

A long, high-pitched giggle answered my question. I guessed that Harmony wasn’t scared anymore. I also guessed that her upbeat mood was at least partly due to chemicals. Well, at least Wayne and I didn’t need to visit and cheer her up.

“Are you all right now?” I asked her, just to be sure.

“Wouldn’t you like to know?” she asked back, her words in singsong like a child’s.

At first, I thought she was just being cute. But then I wondered if there was a hidden meaning to her question. With Harmony, there often was.

“Do you need to tell me something?” I asked cautiously, not wanting to be drawn into one of the Alice-in-Wonderland conversations that Harmony and I had gotten into in the past.

“Vesta willed me everything, right?” she said and giggled again. “Her condo is mine now.”

I opened my mouth to tell her that will or no will, the condo was still Wayne’s, just like it had been when Vesta was still alive. He made the payments. He owned it. But I couldn’t bring myself to say it.

“She willed me her secrets too,” Harmony added. This time she didn’t just giggle. She laughed, a low, spooky laugh that Vincent Price would have been proud of. I could almost see her hugging herself, her pale blue eyes glowing phosphorescently in the dark along with her crystals and crosses.

Stop that, I told myself, rubbing the goose bumps that had risen on my arms.

“What secrets are you talking—” I began.

“I’m having a party,” she interrupted. “Tomorrow morning at ten. All the Skeritts will be here, right? I want you guys to come too.”

“Have you actually asked the Skeritts?” I prodded, not sure if this party had any more claim to reality than her alleged ownership of the condo.

“Oh, they’ll come,” she assured me. “Ace and Ingrid promised me, right?”

Ace and Ingrid probably felt sorry for the poor woman, I thought. So did I, for that matter.

“We’d love to come,” I told her.

“It’ll be real cool, right?” she said.

“Right,” I agreed as she hung up. I just hoped I wasn’t lying.

“Well?” said Wayne once I put down the receiver.

“We’re going to a party,” I told him.

His eyebrows rose.

“At the condo. Harmony—”

Then the doorbell rang. It looked like it was going to be one of those Saturday nights. Not one of those fun Saturday nights, one of those strange ones.

Ace was at the door, a lopsided grin on his homely face. Once more, I was struck by his physical resemblance to Wayne. He had Wayne’s low brows and large nose, even his height and build. The build wasn’t so surprising, though. Ace probably worked out. I knew Wayne did. The only major differences between them were eye color, fifteen years or so and a receding hairline. And Ace’s silly smile. I couldn’t imagine Wayne smiling like that.

“Hey,” said Ace as he walked through the doorway. “I hoped you two would be here.” Then, “Wow! Great living room!”

I always forget what my own living room looks like until I see it through a visitor’s eyes. Now I saw it through Ace’s eyes: the swinging chairs suspended by ropes from the high, wood-beamed ceiling; the pinball machines; the one and only couch, homemade in wood and denim; the piles of mismatched pillows; the overflowing bookshelves and overgrown plants that always looked so out of place against the standard, tasteful backdrop of white walls and beige carpet. And a more recent addition: the huge box with the pink bow which now sat in front of the couch.

I could tell the instant that Ace saw the box and realized whose present it had been meant to be. The smile disappeared from his face, leaving it dark and frowning. Now he really looked like Wayne.

“So,” I demanded, a bit more impatiently than I intended. “What’s up?”

Ace looked down at his feet and muttered something I couldn’t make out. I turned to Wayne for a translation. But Wayne’s eyes were staring again, staring at the box. I promised myself I’d get rid of the damn thing the minute he went to sleep that night. If he ever did go to sleep. Then I wondered if you could return a mink coat and get your money back.

I don’t know how long we would have stood there, immobilized, if C.C. hadn’t come upon the scene. But she did, trotting up with a great show of purpose to sniff Ace’s legs.

“Hey, little kitty cat,” he called out and bent down to pet her.

She yowled in greeting and flopped down on her back to be fondled.

Ace returned her yowl and then threw himself down onto his own back, sticking his arms and legs up into the air.

C.C. was astounded. A very human, wide-eyed look of incredulity passed over her face. And then she pounced. Ace wrapped his arms around her and pretended to wrestle her to the ground. C.C. was in ecstasy, growling and yowling and clawing his arms. I was glad someone was having a good time here.

“Why don’t you have a seat, Uncle Ace?” I suggested after C.C. jumped out of his arms and pounced on him for the third time.

Ace jumped to his feet with his silly smile back in place. He brushed the cat hair off his pants legs. His shirt sleeves were shredded.

“Didn’t mean to bother you,” he said. “Just thought I’d come over and maybe talk a little.” He looked at Wayne uncomfortably.

Wayne looked back, a hint of curiosity in his face. What the hell did Ace want? Whatever it was, it probably had more to do with Wayne than me, I decided.

“Well, I’ll let you two talk, then,” I told them. “I need to call Judy back.”

I walked over to the phone and called my warehousewoman. I knew her number by heart now. I turned to look at Ace and Wayne as the phone rang. Ace had taken a seat on the closest swinging chair, his back to me, and was pushing off with his feet. Wayne had returned to the couch. Neither of them was speaking.

“Hello,” came Judy’s voice.

“Hi,” I said back. “This is Kate—”

“Kate, you wouldn’t believe what that son of a bitch pulled!” she shouted without further introduction. “We did like you said. You know, decided to see which of us the dogs came to. But Jerry cheated! He smeared hamburger on his hands first, so of course they came to him.”

I clicked my tongue sympathetically, and glanced over my shoulder again at Wayne’s motionless profile and the back of Ace’s head.

“I said it was fraud and invalidated our agreement,” Judy told me. “But now he’s saying I can take one dog and he can take the other. He wants to split them up!” The outrage stretched her voice into the higher registers. “Little dogs that were together from birth…”

I heard a low murmur coming from the living room as Judy ranted on. Was that Ace speaking? I turned to see, but I couldn’t tell by the back of his head.

“… don’t know why he even wants the dog in the first place,” Judy was saying. “He didn’t care before—”

“Maybe you could get another dog,” I suggested.

“Another dog?” said Judy, her voice confused. She paused, then went on eagerly, “Oh, you mean a ringer!”

‘“A ringer’?” I repeated, warning bells going off in my brain. “What do you mean, ‘a ringer’?”

“That’s a great idea, Kate,” Judy said, ignoring my question. “I’ll go to the pound and get an imposter dog that looks like Poppy. Or maybe Daisy. Jerry doesn’t really care about them. He won’t be able to tell the difference. Then I’ll leave the ringer at Jerry’s and he’ll think it’s the real thing—”

“I’m not sure this is such a good idea,” I tried.

“I’ll do it, Kate,” she bulldozed on. “I’ll go to the pound tomorrow as soon as they open!”

“But—”

“Thanks, Kate,” she said. “You’re a great boss.”

“But don’t you think—” I began, then closed my mouth.

I was listening to the dial tone. Judy was going to get another dachshund. I was a great boss, all right. I’d done it again.

I turned to look into the living room again, wondering if I should call her back. Then I noticed that Ace was gone. And Wayne was still sitting on the couch staring at the birthday present. I took a big breath and marched into the living room.

“Do you mind if I move this?” I asked Wayne, tapping the corner of the box with my toe.

He shrugged his shoulders. I took that as a go-ahead and wrestled the box down the hallway and into the back room. It wasn’t easy. It was a big box, too big for me to get my arms around. But a few minutes of kicking, sliding and shoving did the trick. And the kicking part felt pretty damn good after a day of shock and frustration. Then I went back to the living room to sit next to Wayne. He was still staring, only now he was staring at the spot where the box had been. Damn.

“So, what’d you guys talk about?” I asked in a voice that was cheerier than I felt. Much cheerier.

He shrugged again.

“Well, what’d you talk about earlier at Mount Tam?” I tried.

“Didn’t talk,” Wayne muttered, his face vacant.

I held in the burn that was warming my face. I knew he was still hurting. But I wanted him to talk to me. Ace wasn’t just his favorite uncle anymore. He was a murder suspect.

“Did Ace mention Harmony’s party at the condo tomorrow?” I asked.

He shook his head.

I took a deep breath. The doorbell rang again.

This time it was Clara Kushiyama, Vesta’s nurse. Vesta’s former nurse, I corrected myself silently. At least she was more direct about her purpose than Ace had been.

“I came by to see how Wayne was doing,” she told me in a whisper as she breezed through the doorway, her kind, moon-shaped face filled with obvious concern. I felt something loosen in my shoulders as I looked into her eyes. Maybe it was responsibility.

“He’s not doing too well,” I whispered back, with a nod in his direction.

Clara patted my hand sympathetically. A moment later, she was sitting next to Wayne on the couch. She didn’t look at his face but instead joined him in gazing straight ahead, speaking as if to the air.

“I know how painful grief can be,” she said, her voice as gentle as a lullaby. “When you’re in it, it seems like the pain will never pass. But it does, slowly, lessening with each tear of remorse, with each cry of rage.”

Wayne continued to stare ahead, but I could see moisture in his eyes now.

“My husband died five years ago,” Clara continued. “I thought I would never be able to live afterwards, but I did.” She reached over and patted Wayne’s hand. A tear trickled slowly down his face. “I just wanted you to know that you will get past the worst of the pain,” she finished. “It won’t go on forever. You can let go now.”

He nodded his head violently in silent acknowledgment.

“Do you want to talk?” she asked him.

He shook his head even more violently and put his hand over his face.

“Need to be alone,” he said, squeezing out each word painfully. My own throat felt sore just hearing him.

“Kate, my dear,” Clara prompted. “Why don’t you show me your kitchen.”

“Huh?” I said. And then belatedly, “Oh, yeah, the kitchen. How would you like some tea?”

A little while later, Clara was sitting at the kitchen table and I was putting the kettle on the stove. I heard a long sob from the living room. My feet carried me toward the doorway, the kettle still in my hand. I didn’t know I was carrying it. All my senses were tuned in on Wayne. I heard a low whimper. My heart contracted.

“He’ll be fine, Kate,” Clara said quickly. “Let him be alone for a little while.”

But my legs were still urging me forward. Slowly, I forced them to turn and take me back to the kitchen stove. Think of something else, I told myself as I set the kettle on the burner. But the only other thing I could think of was Vesta.

“Do you think Vesta was poisoned?” I blurted out finally.

“I’m not really sure,” Clara answered slowly. She frowned for a few moments. “But I’m afraid she might have been,” she added.

I nodded my head. I could still hear Wayne crying.

“Harmony’s gone over the edge,” I said loud enough to drown out the sound.

“Harmony was very dependent on Vesta,” Clara observed. “And in her own way, Vesta was dependent on Harmony. They fed on each other’s problems.”

“They smoked a lot of dope together,” I added. “I always thought that was kind of strange. Vesta voluntarily medicating herself like that after all the years of involuntary over-medication.”

“Not really so strange,” Clara said quietly. “Vesta was used to a lot more medicine. And she had too many feelings she couldn’t deal with on her own. The drugs helped.”

The teakettle began to sing.

“I’ll miss her,” Clara sighed, as I turned it off. “Vesta was a fighter. She was getting better all the time. She’d have been okay.” She shook her head slowly. “I don’t know about Harmony, though,” she added.

“Could we pay you to look in on Harmony like you did with Vesta?” I suggested, feeling suddenly lighter with the idea. “I’m worried about her.”